


life and death and love and birth, and peace and war, in the borderlands

by straypunk



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: (eventual) Mutual Pining, (eventual) awkward flirting, Alternate Universe, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, BAMF Connie Maheswaran, Bonding, Borderlands 3 Spoilers, Borderlands AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Cohabitation, Connie gets to swear, Connie is taller than Steven, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Little bit of angst, Pacifist!Steven, Post-Borderlands 3, Steven is a bit of a cryptid, The kids are young adults for this - roughly early 20s or so, Vault Hunter!Connie, and something of an insomniac, awkward everything, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22341271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straypunk/pseuds/straypunk
Summary: "Is there anything that's worth more, than peace and love, in the borderlands?"cold is the night- the oh hellosThere are rumors of a boy who sold his soul, so he could make peace with the galaxy.Aspiring Vault Hunter Connie Maheswaran wants to know if the rumors are true, and if this boy even exists.
Relationships: Connie Maheswaran & Steven Universe, Connie Maheswaran/Steven Universe
Comments: 38
Kudos: 75





	1. the planet speaker

**Author's Note:**

> this is a super-duper, totally self indulgent au/crossover, don't mind me-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [the devil wears a suit and tie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqR1cjuPXUg)
> 
> Connie searches for an unarmed boy on Pandora.

The Pandoran heat beats down through holes in the steel bus' roof. Connie peers out from behind her book as the sound of slowing tires catch her attention. The beat-to-hell bus lurches to a stop and she stands, her sheathed sword clattering against her leg with the movement.

The driver—an older, heavy set man who sports a goatee, a short ponytail, a leather jacket, and a sleazy smile—turns back toward her. "This is your stop, Vaulter," he says. "I _would_ suggest you stop by one of my vending machines, but... you look pretty well armed, as is."

The advertisement masked as a compliment makes her smile. She drops an extra couple of dollars in his hand, once she reaches the front of the bus. "I probably will, anyway. Thanks for the ride, sir."

He grins at her, as she turns to exit. "Good to know I've got another customer. And I already told you, it's just Marcus!"

Connie waves farewell before she steps out into the sand and the dust. She adjusts the strap of her satchel, the doors closing behind her with a hiss and a clack. She walks through open gates of the settlement ahead of her, listening as Marcus drives away.

The city of Isolone. This is where he was last seen, if her source is correct.

_The boy who speaks to planets._

The tales say that he's a wanderer. Transient in every sense of the word. Hell, he might not even be on Pandora anymore, if she's especially unlucky. The thought makes her frown a little.

But, if fate is in her favor today... he might still be here.

Cobbled-together buildings tower above her, and countless people come and go on the street. She gets a few stares aimed at the bright pink weapon at her back, some openly gawking at the sword. Everyone has guns of all makes and colors, and they catch her eye for a very brief moment, but Connie doesn't linger on anyone for too long. Her objective won't have any gun or blade on his person, if the rumors are true.

He'll be a pacifist. A damn _pacifist._ That kind of thing is just plain unheard of, here on the border planets.

Connie travels the streets, scanning and searching for a hint of the description she was initially given. She's met with nothing but guns, guns, a knife, and more guns on people's hips and backs. Not a soul she encounters or passes by is unarmed.

She stops by a vendor and glances through their selection of food. The meaty smell certainly isn't charred skag, but it's undesirable enough to make her grimace. Connie orders something non-meat based, just in case.

She wanders away with her steaming veggie-kabob, eyes still searching for anyone without a weapon.

Maybe this was a mistake... maybe this boy is just fiction. Maybe he's lying somewhere dead in the desert. The latter is more likely, given Pandora's nature.

That seer may have just been a sham, and she's been going on some wild goose chase for the past month. That three-eyed woman is probably wriggling with delight as she keeps Connie's stupid twenty dollars clasped in her hands.

Connie chomps down on the second grilled vegetable with annoyed viciousness, as she continues to walk the streets.

Then again... twenty bucks _is_ something to sneeze at on Eden-6. One would probably charge a hundred dollars for fortune telling and scrying, as opposed to what she payed.

She chews on the reddish vegetable for a while, and stops to rest her legs. She's only just begun searching the city, so there's still hope. Maybe she should look around the hotels, ask if they've seen anyone who... _doesn't fit._ This boy will no doubt stand out like a varkid in the snow compared to the locals, so, someone probably saw him.

Upon finishing her kabob, Connie makes her way toward a building with a neon _'(no) vacancy'_ sign. She slips through the open threshold and the smell of sharp incense bombards her senses. She can't withhold the cough that leaps from her chest.

The room lies mostly barren, aside from some chairs scattered around, with a long desk-bar at the back. A lone woman with long, dirty-blonde hair, and just as dirty casual clothes, sits behind it. She keeps her face buried in a magazine, and her feet propped up on the counter. A sizeable shotgun rests just within the woman's reach, on a table behind her. A large wad of incense wafts thick smoke into the room from a burner on a high shelf.

The woman doesn't even look up, as Connie approaches. The clerk speaks before Connie can even get a word in. "It keeps out the ghosts."

Connie blinks. "I-I... I'm sorry?"

"The incense. It keeps out the ghosts," the clerk responds. "You here t' rent a room?"

Okay, that's... an odd reason for burning incense, but it's certainly a reason. "Oh, uh—no ma'am. I came in to ask; has anyone who _wasn't_ armed come into your establishment, recently?"

The woman finally glances up at Connie, though her nose remains buried in her magazine. "... Lookin' f'er a friend of yours, or somethin'?"

She shouldn't lie, because lying makes her feel wrong and squirmy, and she can already just _see_ her mother's disapproved frown. So... all she has to do is _not_ lie. "Sort of, ma'am. I was supposed to meet him in this city. I don't exactly know what he looks like—just that he doesn't carry a weapon."

There's a long pause, as the clerk sizes her up. The woman licks her thumb, before she turns a page. "Yeah. Some dude without any weapons came in an' rented a room a couple days ago. He had a funny lookin' jacket."

A 'funny looking jacket' isn't much to go on, but it's something. Connie half-turns back toward the door. "You wouldn't happen to know where he might be, right now?"

The clerk gives her a loose shrug. "Couldn't pay his rent yesterday, so I had to kick 'im out. Check Skag Alley—it's at th' back a' the city. E'rybody who don't have a'nuff money for a room usually hole up there. Just watch f'er skags, as the name implies."

Connie nods in gratitude. "Will do. Thank you ma'am!"

The clerk gives her a hum of brief acknowledgement, and goes back to her magazine. Connie heads back out, the unscented air an absolute blessing on her throat and nose. She breathes deep, before she trudges further into the settlement.

The buildings get more and more dilapidated as she goes, until they turn into shipping crates stacked haphazardly on top of one another, and rusty sheets of metal welded together with minimal effort. The people get rougher too. They're not as well armed, but they still have guns. Very neglected looking guns, but guns nonetheless.

Still no sign of her planet-speaker, who apparently wears a funny jacket...

Doubt begins to climb up the back of her neck. He could've been eaten or murdered, back here. It's a very real possibility, but it's one she isn't going to believe in. The seer said he was here _,_ so she's going to find him alive and in one piece.

A gurgling _rumble_ sounds off from across the street, and Connie's hand snaps to her sword's hilt. Two creatures eye her from afar, their muted purple scales covered in grime. One opens its sideways jaws and _screeches_ at her, while the other one prowls behind it.

 _Skags_. Ugly little demons that will eat anything.

The larger of the two skags paws the ground. Connie lifts her weapon from its sheath ever so slightly, which prompts both skags to screech. She fully draws her pink blade as the two charge.

One leaps at her, jaws parted to bite down on a limb, but Connie cleaves it at an angle. Maroon-purple blood sprays across the dusty street and onto the other skag, who scrambles back in haste. It screams at her as she realigns her stance. Something moves in the shadows of a nearby den, and Connie's blood goes cold.

A large, horned and spiky skag thunders out into the open. The creature sniffs the air and turns toward the fallen pup. It zeroes in on Connie, before it _shrieks_ with wild fury.

Connie readies her sword as both skags race at her. She whirls and slices into the smaller one, cutting it across and leaving a gaping slash in its side. She leaps back, the much larger one landing with a heavy _thud_ where she once stood. It roars, jaws spreading wide, and the preverbal lightbulb goes off in Connie's brain.

She slams forward and thrusts her sword into the skag's maw, down its throat. The thing's roar cuts off, replaced by bloody gurgling as it seizes up. The skag thrashes and jolts for a moment, and then goes limp on her blade. Connie stands there with labored breath and a pounding heart.

Her sword slides out with a squishy, _squelchy_ noise that makes her skin prickle. She shakes the weapon, sending blood spattering on the ground at her feet. She wipes her brow with a free hand and gives a relieved sigh.

Movement catches just out of the corner of her eye.

Connie looks up, ready for another fight, only to see a young man with light tan skin and a head of short, curly black hair. His baby-pink jacket is stark against the washed out reds and grays around them, and his deep brown eyes hold a look of concern. The bright golden star on his black shirt draws her eyes to his broad chest.

His voice is soft and smoky, with a vague hint of scratchiness. "You didn't have to kill them... their mother was just very protective, and her pups were hungry."

He looks down, almost sheepish in his mourning for the creatures, as he clings to a shoulder strap that leads to a guitar on his back. The frown on his lips appears so out of place for some reason. Connie scans him further, her eyes tracing to the side-satchel strapped around his waist, his distressed jeans, and his neon-magenta sandals.

_Like a flower in the middle of the desert..._

"I had to defend myself," she says, sheathing her weapon.

The young man gives a half-hearted sigh. "I know... it's just—it's sad, that you had to."

Connie tilts her head. Skags _are_ just beasts, but... she supposes it is a little sad, since they were merely acting on instinct. She pushes down the guilty, squirmy feeling in her gut, and addresses the person in front of her. "What's your name?"

He meets her eyes, managing a very weak smile. "Steven... Steven Universe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's a _weird_ name.


	2. the aspiring vault hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pandora has told him all of her story. It's time for him to move on.

The woman who killed the skags introduces herself as _"Connie Maheswaran."_ She doesn't carry a gun, but instead wields a bright pink sword with a star engraved on the golden guard. It's... very pretty, despite the weapon's purpose.

The maroon-purple blood that cakes the dirt makes his stomach turn, regardless.

Steven looks her up and down, eyes tracing over her bomber jacket with a fur collar, and her worn out messenger bag. He looks at her deep brown, short and puffy hair, her toned arms, her prominent nose, and her thick eyebrows—he looks anywhere but the skag corpses, as Connie steps closer to him.

"Are you the planet-speaker?" she asks.

He blinks at the title, and a tiny smirk spreads across his face. "That's what people seem to call me."

Connie's shoulders sag with relief as she gives a sigh. "I was starting to think you might've been a myth, with how long I've been searching," she says with a small laugh. "I'm a Vault Hunter—well, an up and coming one, anyway. I was told to seek you out, when I asked a seer on Eden-Six about finding a new vault. She said you could help me open it, if you'd be willing."

Recognition pings in the back of his mind, and Steven can't help but smile. "Did this seer have three eyes, and cube-shaped hair?"

Connie's expression shifts to surprise. "How'd you know?"

Steven chuckles, as they begin to walk back into the city. "I met her back when I was traveling on Eden-Six. She let me stay with her, while I was there."

Connie's posture perks up. Her upper lip twitches, and curiosity burns in her eyes. "How many planets have you been to?"

"Dozens," he replies, hands slipping into his pockets.

She looks like she wants to ask another question, but the Vaulter holds her tongue. She glances ahead before speaking again. "The vault that our mutual acquaintance described is called the 'Vault of the Singer.' She said it's on a planet called _Krotos_. Have you ever been there?"

Steven bites his lip, and his gaze wanders skyward as he tries to think back. That name doesn't sound familiar, so he shakes his head. They carry on in silence for a bit, passing by ramshackle dwellings that eventually evolve into more sturdy buildings. He lets his sight wander across the structures, taking in the signs and advertisements plastered all over the walls.

Connie eyes him, shyness in her features. "Do you... want to help me open this vault?"

He gives her a nod and a smile. "It sounds like fun—plus, I'd get to visit a new planet," he glances away, turning sheepish. "I've... admittedly been kinda stuck here, for a lot longer than I'd usually like."

All that previous nervousness melts away from Connie's face, replaced by budding curiosity. "How come?"

"Not enough cash, and not enough jobs I'm qualified for," he replies with a shrug.

She gives him a confused stare for a handful of seconds, before something registers behind her eyes. She mouths a soft _"oh,"_ and nods before she goes quiet.

They pass by a bounty board, and Steven's gaze catches several ECH0-posters hanging on the metal. _"Dead or Deader,_ " some read, with thousands upon millions of dollars listed as a reward for the head of a human being. Criminals they may be, and an unforgiving wasteland Pandora is, but... surely, even cutthroats deserve some form of trial. Right?

His heart gets a little heavier, but he pays it no mind. 

Connie hefts her messenger bag further up her shoulder, as they reach the gates of Isolone. She makes a beeline for a garage-esk structure on the outer wall, and Steven follows a few steps behind her. She stops in front of a small, boxy terminal, and lays her hands on the keyboard.

The woman glances over toward him. "I had to take a bus here, since my ship needed to refuel," she explains, punching in some information. "I hope you don't mind travel by technical."

Steven smiles and shakes his head. "I don't mind at all. I usually just walk."

She jolts in surprise, fingers hovering over the keys. Connie looks back at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. "You... _just_ walk?"

"Yup. It's been a while since I rode in a car, so I'm actually kinda excited!" he replies, chipper and bright.

She must think he's crazy, judging by the utterly incredulous expression on her face. Connie shakes her head a little, and returns to her task. A few moments later, one of the nearby pads alights with a blue, digital glow, and a boxy shape begins to construct itself. It looks more and more car-shaped by the second, until a large hunk of steel and wheels plops into existence in the form of a light runner-jeep.

The terminal chimes, and a southern voice recording spits from the speakers. _"Get y'er rear in gear, and Catch-a-Ride, you beautiful sumbitch!"_

Connie's cheeks go a dusty pink. The ground must be quite interesting all of a sudden, because she promptly looks down at her feet and avoids all eye-contact with the terminal. She gives a throat-clearing cough, and motions for Steven to hop into the newly digistructed vehicle. He holds back a giggle as they clamber into the runner.

He slides into the passenger seat, storing his guitar case snugly at his feet as Connie takes the wheel and starts the engine. She glances toward a crude radio on the dashboard, and then back to him, her hand hovering near a toggle switch. Steven nods, and she flips it. [A slower, beachy-rock beat](https://youtu.be/Z6HZ4MaCv2M) thrums to life over the speakers.

Connie grins and cranks up the volume. She gives him a side-glance, and Steven's hackles suddenly start to rise. She's up to something. Something decidedly _very_ unsafe...

And he's fine with that, for some reason.

"Hang on tight!" she says, before she floors the gas pedal.

The tires squeal, and Steven slams back in giddy anticipation. He scrambles for a seatbelt as the runner peels out from under the garage. He settles for just hanging onto the sides of the cushion, when he can't find any semblance of a safety strap. Dust flies up behind them, Isolone disappearing in the rearview.

They both laugh and hollar, cruising at high speeds with the radio on full blast. Desert hills pass by in a blur as they drive through the wasteland. Hours go by without incident. At least, until Steven spies a few bandit-manned technicals somewhere in the rocky distance, speeding around and catapulting off ramps.

He holds his breath. _Please let them go unnoticed..._

A hulking vehicle with spikes jutting out of its grill comes speeding from behind a dune and skids into their trail. Figures clamber on the hood and atop the cab, shouting and screaming over the roaring engine.

Connie takes one look in the rearview and grits her teeth. " _Shit._ "

She shifts gears, and the engine-boosters fire up with a loud _FOOSH!_ The runner rockets forward, Connie steering around a corner. Steven clings to anything he can, including his poor guitar case, as the whole vehicle lurches and threatens to overturn. It lands back on all four wheels with a heavy bump, much to his relief.

The bandit technical skids into view, but they have some good distance between it. The boosters die with a whine, and they slow back down to sixty. Steven glances over his shoulder, out the rear window, and his posture goes slack.

He watches the technical turn around with a jolt, its passengers still hooting and screaming.

Both he and Connie give heavy sighs as the woman slouches in her seat. She gives him a weary smirk. "Still having fun?"

Steven grins back at her. He tilts his hand back and forth in a _so-so_ gesture. Connie chuckles, before she turns her gaze back to the road.

The rest of the drive remains largely uneventful—aside from nearly running over a skag—until they finally reach safe soil. They pass by a small water tower, before they pull up to and park in front of the steel gates of some kind of fort. Steven realizes it's an old mining drydock, upon passing the open threshold. The name _"DAHL"_ is spray-painted on just about everything.

A sleek, boxy little ship sits atop a giant, concrete landing platform, at the back of the compound. Personal-passenger class, if Steven had to guess the model. The metal shines a deep blue, purple, slate-gray, and glittery silver, in the weakening daylight. He can't help but stare and marvel at it as he and Connie climb the stairs up to the landing.

"Impressive, isn't she?" Connie asks with a smirk. She doesn't even try to hide the pride in her voice, which makes Steven smile. "She's my _Parichit._ She's been a loyal vessel for two whole years, and she's still goin' strong."

Owning a ship is a pretty big achievement—in his eyes, at any rate—so Connie has every right to strut and show it off. He could visit so many more planets if he had a ship of his own... maybe someday he'd start saving up for one. "She's very pretty," he replies, starry eyed. "I really like her colors."

Connie holds her head a little higher at his compliment, and her smirk gets all the wider. They traipse up the platforms and stairs that lead up to her ship in silence. Once at the side entrance, Connie lifts an ECH0 device from her bag and presses it to the center of the door. Something inside gives a cheerful beep, before the door opens with a hydraulic _hiss._

She steps aside, arms outstretched for him to go first. Steven doesn't even realize he's been smiling this whole time as he steps inside.

The interior lights up, illuminating a short entrance strip, before leading into a forking hallway. To the left, lies the cockpit, and to the right, sits a cozy living space and mini-kitchen. He glances around the living area, spying cushions and seating, as well as a nice coffee table. Dozens upon dozens of books sit within a forcefield-covered shelf—probably to keep them from falling off, during rough flights.

Steven gasps quietly and lifts his hands to his face. "This is so _cute!_ Everything looks so cozy..."

Connie laughs, slipping in behind him and walking ahead. "She's home sweet home, that's for sure," she pauses, face going a bit pink. "There's uh, only one cabin, though. Parichit is _very_ cozy."

He smiles and follows her to the front of the ship. "I wouldn't mind sleeping in the living area."

The blush doesn't fade, but Connie glances back at him. "You sure? I usually end up crashing on the couch anyway, so I wouldn't mind sacrificing my bed."

Steven's stomach twists a little. A person's room is scared territory, and he's just met Connie. He couldn't just invade her _personal_ - _personal_ space—especially not this early. "Really, it's alright," he replies with a casual tone.

Quietness overtakes the ship as Connie nods and seats herself in the captain's chair. She leans across the expansive console and flicks a few switches, causing screens light up. Steven's eyes trail across all the little decorations scattered around. He lands on a slightly worn poster of a dark skinned woman with blue-purple, glowy tattoos, and a deep brown ponytail. She's dressed in punkish attire, with a purple jacket tied around her waist. She's posing with a wide grin, and cracking her knuckles. The poster has been hand-signed with shiny purple ink, and a little vault-symbol under the message.

_Go get 'em, Vault Hunter!_

_Amara  
Tiger of Partali_

"You ever met her?" Connie asks, looking over her shoulder.

"Afraid not," he replies, eyes still on the poster. "I've never been to Partali."

Connie boots up another system, before speaking again. "I was really little when I got that poster. It was a birthday gift from my dad," she explains, leaning back as the ship awakens. "I took that thing _everywhere_ with me, because I wanted to get it signed if I ever met her..."

She utters a dreamy sigh, and melts into her chair. Steven chuckles, hands slipping into his pockets. "Was she as cool as you imagined?"

"Seven _billion_ times as much!" Connie exclaims, throwing her hands up in glee. "Amara's the baddest of the badasses, and I _met her!_ I met her just after I turned eighteen, and I got that poster signed just before she left the planet—" she's blushing again, much brighter than before. "—And I blabbered to her about how much I wanted to be like her, and how I wanted to be a Vault Hunter too, and she just—she _encouraged me..._ "

She covers her face, and it takes all of Steven's willpower not to giggle uproariously. He manages to barely curb a laugh as he puts a hand over his mouth.

Connie ignores her ship's delighted little ping to inform her that the fuel tank is full. "I just know that I totally embarrassed her. It was the best and worst day of my _entire_ _life._ "

Steven lowers himself to the floor with a smile. He slips his guitar case off his shoulder, before he opens it and pulls out his acoustic six-string. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

The woman groans, oh so dramatic as she sags further into the chair. "It was _horrible_ , and it was fantastic! She told me to go be a Vault Hunter, right to my face! I almost _cried_ in front of her!"

She jumps when he strums the guitar. Steven gives her nothing but sincerity, as she stares him down. "You met your hero. Being excited about that is nothing to be ashamed of."

That seems to strike a chord with her, because Connie goes quiet. She stares at him, gears turning for a few moments. Eventually, she looks down and returns his smile.

He tunes his guitar as she continues to prep the ship for takeoff. Once ready, the engines roar and the ship rises from the dock. The atmosphere is no match for the Parichit as it ascends into space.

Stars glimmer outside the window, as they sit above Pandora.

Steven drinks in the sight of her brown surface and purple scars. It's been a while since he saw her from this view... before he learned her secrets, and heard her story.

His hands move on their own accord, and a melody springs from his guitar. Something cheerfully paced, but with a touch of melancholy. Lyrics want to escape his throat, but his nerves choke them up.

Connie's voice is quiet, as she stares out the window. "Can you really talk to planets?"

His hands go still, and his voice hesitates for a long moment, as he gathers his thoughts. "It's... more like listening, really. I talk _to_ them all the time, but, I dunno if they can hear me—in the traditional sense, anyway. I can see where people got the 'speaker' title, though."

Connie's eyes sparkle as she peers over her shoulder at him. "So you can actually _hear_ what a planet says? Is it a real voice, or...?"

_Rumbling echoes. Shifts in the wind and sand, animal calls, and thrumming heartbeats. A sense of turmoil, until finally, sweet relief. Aching, violet scars that burn bright, open for all to see. Wicked men and women, all dead by Pandora's hand._

**_I lived, and you didn't, BITCH._**

Steven resists the urge to wince. Connie wouldn't understand. He could try to explain the feelings he gets, and the tremors he experiences through his very core, but it wouldn't make any sense to her. Connie most likely only knows vaults, violence, and verbal communication. The way he listens to planets is far too... _alien_ , for a human to comprehend.

"It's kinda difficult to put into words," he finally admits. "I can just... hear them. Some have different ways of telling me the things they want me to know..."

His fingers tighten around the neck of his guitar, and a frown threatens to cross his lips, but he he strums a few more chords, continuing the song with a smile. Pandora told him so much. She overshared about how The Calypso twins wanted to drain her of all she had, and then some.

The ripping, _tearing_ , greedy hunger of maddened sirens... just thinking about it makes his guts writhe and his heart quicken. He can't seem get that feeling out of his chest, even now.

He takes a steadying breath and relaxes his grip. All that happened in the past. He's here, away from the surface. He's going to be far away from their graves. Pandora will keep healing, and she'll eventually recover. She'll be stronger than ever, pretty soon.

The thought makes his heart go fuzzy and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i sold my bed, but not my stereo](https://youtu.be/VLZe2Xd-2Eo)


	3. the seer on eden-six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie goes back to Eden-Six for some answers about the vault key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heck with it, I made a whole ass [pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/roguishcrow/is-there-anything-thats-worth-more/) for this au/crossover, because I have no impulse control-

Steven's guitar has oceans and roses on it.

A peaceful turquoise beach with pale golden sand lies across the face of the guitar. Intricate pink roses that bloom from maroon-thorned vines crawl up the neck. It all appears hand-painted, with little imperfections that she can barely make out from this far away. Connie tries not to stare at the instrument as Steven plays a sweet and saddened melody. Staring is rude, even if you're trying to make out all the tiny details on someone's _very_ pretty guitar.

She tears her gaze away, and properly takes the helm.

Since Steven doesn't know where Krotos is, and she doesn't either, they'll need to find a third party. Someone who knows a lot about vaults, and where to find them. Amara comes to mind almost instantly, but Connie shakes away the idea. One, the Tiger is a busy woman who's no doubt currently hunting her own vaults, and two, Connie doesn't need a seasoned Vault Hunter's help with finding a planet, because _she's_ a Vault Hunter.

She can figure this out on her own.

Connie leans over to the warp-drive's console and flicks up a list of nearby planets and moons. She shifts through the names—Pandora, Elpis, Prometha, Athenas, Eden, Edens-Two-through-Six... no Krotos in sight. She widens her search, expanding the parameters to a map of the solar system.

A holo-projection leaps up from a spot on her dashboard. Planets upon planets and stars upon stars gaze back at her, voidlike. She scans the labels on each planet and moon, but nothing sticks out. There isn't even a single _K_ -named planet listed in this system.

Steven's music floats on.

Vaults have keys. Those are important, since you can't open a vault without its key. But, of course, the seer didn't mention anything about the key, because twenty bucks for a vault-scry session seems to be the bare minimum. Get what you pay for, and all that.

Something in her strains and coils with aggravation.

Connie leans back in her chair and breathes out a heavy sigh. "I think we'll need to head to Eden-Six and visit that seer again. She didn't tell me anything about Krotos' location, or its key. She just said to _'Find the planet-speaker.'"_

At least she gave Connie some clear directions for _that._

Steven's tone is nothing but understanding. "Good to know Garnet's still cryptic as ever."

There's nothing she can do to suppress an eye roll. She flicks a few toggles and aligns the heading toward the swampy planet. The computer charts their course as the Parichit fires up its warp-drive. Steven keeps playing, even as the ship lurches and rockets forward.

Stars fly by, until the flora-covered moon _pops_ into view.

Her chair creeks as she stands up and walks toward her satchel. Steven watches her, his eyes following her movements with wary curiosity. Connie digs out her ECH0-device as she slips the bag onto her shoulder. "I'm still registered to the Eden-Six fast-travel network, so we can save a few miles of trekking through the jungle. I just have to sync your profile with mine, so we don't get split up by mistake."

Steven's face goes a shade paler, and his shoulders tense. "I... don't really _do_ fast-travel..."

Connie blinks down at him, a bit taken aback. "How come?"

He fidgets as he puts his guitar back in its case. He glances to the side, almost like a frightened animal. "I just... I just _don't_."

She can understand not using Pandoran fast-travel—everything on that planet seems like it's on the brink of exploding, or just about to fall apart—but... Eden-Six? Connie frowns. "Eden's network is stable, you won't have anything to worry about. No atoms getting lost or over scrambled."

The young man gives her a strained look. "I... I've never actually used fast-travel. I always just waited until a ship landed," he puts a hand on the back of his neck. "Sorry... it's weird, I know—not wanting to use the more convenient option."

_Oh._

Well.

That changes a few things. "You're not registered to the network? Like, at all?"

Steven shakes his head, looking sheepish. Connie suppresses the urge to put a hand to her forehead. Does he even have an ECH0-device? Probably not, now that she thinks about it. She motions for him to come closer.

He shuffles forward, hands in his pockets. "I never really saw any reason to hook in. I never use it, so..."

A chuckle escapes her as she lifts her ECH0-device to his eye level. "You're analog as hell. That's okay, though—hooking in isn't a big hassle, and making a profile doesn't take long."

"Then, I... I'd be willing to try."

A quick fullbody scan and ECH0Net profile registration later, Connie leads her technophobe friend over to the Parichit's fast-travel module. She punches in the coordinates and the little station boots up.

A light flashes out, just above them, and descends to scan them. Connie closes her eyes.

There's a floaty nothingness for a while, before her vision fills with geometric particles, and her feet touch solid ground. Connie blinks away the bright afterimages, her eyes adjusting to the low light. Agley-green everything surrounds them, and moss covered trees tower above the wooden platform they landed on. She looks over to her companion. She tries not to snicker at his modified and haunted expression. He flinches as his hand snaps up to cover his mouth, looking a little bit like the flora around them.

With his free hand, Steven unloops his guitar case from his shoulders and slowly sets it down on the wooden platform. He stays hunched over, before he swallows thickly.

Connie bites her lip. "You good?"

He doesn't respond right away, simply staring into oblivion for a hot second. He holds up a finger, a signal to wait, as he analyzes... something. Tense moments tick by. He seizes up and makes a mad dash for the nearest clump of bushes. Connie averts her gaze with a sympathetic smirk.

The tell-tale sound of hurling whatever his last meal was only lasts a handful of half-minutes. She looks toward a breathless Steven, who meets her gaze as he leans up from the foliage. He shoots her a weak grin and a thumbs up, which makes her snort. He trudges back to retrieve his guitar, with much better color in his face.

Connie pats him on the shoulder once he has his case snuggly around his shoulders again. "My mom did the same thing the first time she fast-traveled. Took her a few trips to really get used to it. It helps if you close your eyes—for me, anyway."

Steven gives a weak, nervous laugh, and grits his teeth. "If... you're okay with providing a bucket, when we head back to the Parichit..."

She nods and steps off the platform. "And if I'm not fast enough, the front entrance is easy enough to clean."

He grimaces, but smiles nevertheless. "Gross."

Out comes her ECH0, which projects a map and waypoint for them to follow. Steven leans over to get a better look at the hologram, as Connie traces a way to their destination with a finger. She hums, biting the inside of her cheek. A few hours by foot through swampy jungles, with no Catch-A-Ride stations on the way or within a reasonable backtrack distance...

Connie looks out at the terrain ahead. This is Eden-Six. Everything that could go wrong, most likely will go wrong, but there's a lesser chance of things going wrong than on Pandora. There's probably only a seventy-percent chance of them landing in mortal peril, somewhere in the swamp.

They should be fine.

And she continues to think that, while she cuts through thick underbrush, as the rotting-wood smell lingers for far too long, and they wade through calf-deep murk. She continues to repeat her inner mantra, even as they pass by a wooden sign with the image of some large, lethal looking reptile painted on it. _"Warning, Tyrants!!"_ it reads, above and under the image.

They wade through another patch of muddy gunk, and she checks her ECH0. A little over half-way there, with minor mishap. How Steven has kept his sandals on this whole time is a complete mystery to her. She lost an entire boot, last time she was here.

Branches snap, a little too close for comfort, and Connie freezes. Steven stops just a pace behind her. She eyes a giant hollow log, just a little ways off the path, its interior dark and shadowy. Nothing moves. She barely even breathes.

A bird call rings out, somewhere in the canopy. Another responds, some distance away.

From out of the bushes and behind the log, leaps a raptor-like beast with flashing teeth and horns and claws. Connie backpedals, pushing Steven out of the way as the creature lands almost on top of them.

Her mind scrambles for a name—she'd read up on these things, she just has to _remember_ how to deal with them—and just as it roars, the word clicks. Saurian. Native to Eden-Six. Larger variant can breath fire, younger ones spit acidic juices. Very young ones travel in groups, older juveniles can be found as loners.

The saurian snaps down where she once stood, Connie's legs on autopilot. She swings at it, her blade slicing through a layer of tough hide. Her enemy shrieks, but she cuts upward, nicking into its upper jaw. The saurian stamps forward, inhaling as it prepares to spit, but Connie remains vigilant. She dodges around and stabs for its neck, the beast crying out and stumbling away.

Another slash, and strange hued blood sprays from its leg. Another cut, and blood oozes out. Her blade coats in the greenish-maroon substance, while she remains untouched. The saurian stumbles, one eye closed as blood seeps down its face. She slices into another leg, and it snaps at her before it tumbles to the ground.

Time to finish this.

She rushes forward, but her blade meets a stretch of pink hologram that definitely wasn't there before. Steven crouches under it, holding the shield aloft with wild eyes and gritted teeth.

Connie stares at him through the digital layer of pink, her mouth agape. " _Steven_ , what the _fuck_ —?!"

"You don't have to kill him!" Steven interjects, pushing back in a panic.

Connie's blade slides along the shield, and she digs her heels in. "It tried to _eat us_ , why are you—?!"

He shoves the construct forward, sending her skidding back several paces. She holds her ground with labored breath, as Steven's shield dissipates in a flash of digital sparkles. He looks to her with strained desperation. "We've done things your way. Now it's my turn."

The saurian behind him rises up with a snarl, but Steven whirls on it, just as it reaches its full height. It snaps toward him, and he just hops to the side. He wraps his arms around the reptile's outstretched neck, and it screeches and thrashes, but he keeps an inhumanly steady grip. He grapples the beast to the dirt, the saurian's tail lashing about as it tries to get at Steven with its claws.

He keeps just out of reach, shushes the thing— _shushes it_ —and hums the beginning of a melody that Connie has never heard. He closes his eyes, and his lips move with inaudible lyrics. All the while, the reptile in his grasp begins to calm and settle. Its eyes go from wild and frantic, to half-lidded, and its whole posture becomes more at ease as Steven sings.

Steven opens his eyes and goes quiet, as he lets the creature go. The saurian stands up, oh so casually, and shakes itself as if nothing had even happened. It noses forward, sniffing at Steven's arm. Steven pats it on the muzzle with a smile, before it turns and trots away.

Connie's arms and jaw go slack, and her sword scrapes through the dirt between her feet, as she watches the saurian disappear into the undergrowth. She looks to Steven, barely able to find her voice. "H-How did... how did you...?"

He smiles, like there's nothing weird about calming a saurian with just a song. "I'm the planet-speaker, remember?"

With that, he turns toward their intended destination, and starts walking.

Connie stares after him and blinks, still shellshocked. She shakes her head and sheaths her sword, before she follows after him. "What does that even _mean?!"_

Along the path they continue to trek, and her ECH0 pings as they get closer, closer, ever closer to the seer's residence. Steven doesn't say anything else about the saurian, but he does get out his guitar. He plays some upbeat instrumental, as he trails behind her, the music drifting out and through the trees. If he were anyone else, Connie would've snatched the guitar from him and chided him about the dangers of being too noisy in the swamp.

A jut in the earth comes into view, as they round the bend of a giant tree root. Backed by moss and vine-infested trees, the remains of a crashed ship lie embedded in the upturned earth, and a forbidding little shack sits atop the mound. There's a firepit nearby, with... _something_ cooking on the spit.

A dark skinned figure sits next to the fire, draped in a maroon-purple shawl, with some deep blue garments underneath. She looks up, strands of her cubish, curly hair falling in front of her large sunglasses.

Steven waves, and the woman grins back. "Hi Garnet!"

The seer leaps to her feet, glasses shining. "Steven!"

She meets them halfway down the slope, and she's a _lot_ taller than Connie remembers. She scoops up the young man with no problem, and embraces him with a laugh.

Steven hugs her in return, giggling as she ruffles his hair. "S'good to see you."

"I didn't expect you two to come back so soon," the seer says, setting him back down. "You already find the vault?"

Connie blinks and frowns. "Why... why would you think that? You didn't give me any information on how to find it, or about its key."

Garnet stares back at her with a suddenly blank expression. "Yes I did," she replies, and points at Steven.

The young man looks to her, and Connie's eyes flick to him. They share a brief, confused look, before Steven returns his attention to Garnet. "Uh, how am... how am I the key? I've never even—"

"The song," Garnet states. "She shared the song with you before she..." the seer trails off, as she searches Steven's expression. "... Didn't she?"

_She?_

Connie's face scrunches up in cluelessness, and Steven shakes his head. Garnet grimaces, and waves for them to follow.

The three seat themselves around the firepit, Garnet on the opposite side of the blaze. "The Vault of the Singer is... a very unique vault. Its key is not physical. It is a song," she points to Steven. "One that should have been given to you, long before now."

Connie draws in a breath, several light bulbs going off in her head. "Oh! That's why you sent me to find him."

Garnet nods, and rests her hands in her lap. "Yes," she replies, before she reaches into her shawl, and brings out a metal chip of some kind. "Install this into your navigation system."

"Will that lead us to Krotos?" Steven asks, tilting his head.

"No. It will take you to Eros," Garnet explains. "There, you'll find find the renegade. She knows the vault's song."

Garnet stands, and tosses the hefty chip to Connie, who catches it with ease. The girl watches the seer walk away, back toward her hut. Connie glances at Steven, who gives her a helpless shrug.

The renegade... another cryptic name, another person she has to find.

At least she has a map for this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [blow a kiss / fire a gun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqeW9_5kURI)


	4. the journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [undercover martyn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAJNm0ApPjk)
> 
> Cohabitation is something he hasn't done in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took..... so much longer than I thought it would, oops- With college being as intensive as it was for the past couple of months, i'm surprised I got much of any personal writing finished lol
> 
> Just a heads up for the road: While this fic was originally planned to be 10 chapters long, and that would've been that... I kinda love this concept a little too much to let it stay that short lol I'll no doubt be adding onto this story, via diving into some of Borderlands 3's DLCs, since they offer some rather juicy interaction and plots~ (I'm especially excited to play around with the Guns, Love, & Tentacles DLC..... i have a soft spot for Lovecraftian horror asdfdsasd) So, consider these ten chapters the "base game," if you will!  
> Till next time, enjoy this meaty update~

Maybe this fast-travel thing isn't so bad? He might be able to get used to—

Bile chokes in the back of his throat after he rematerializes within the Parichit's front hall. He smacks a hand across his mouth as he grabs for the waiting bucket in Connie's hands, which she gives to him post haste. He slides to the floor, curling around the plastic container with a grimace. He waits and just breathes, but the nasty-bubbly feeling crawls away instead of up. He shudders, because _yay_ for not hurling again, but his guts definitely hate him now.

Steven cracks open an eye and gives a tense exhale. "I think... I'm okay."

Connie smirks, expression utterly sympathetic despite her playful tone. "Don't jinx it like last time."

He sticks his tongue out, but doesn't move the bucket. "Don't remind me..." he swallows, regaining his bearings. "I do think I'm okay, though."

Both brace themselves, just in case. Connie meets his eyes as they both remain tense, before her lips crack into a ghost of a smirk. That does him in. Steven breaks and lets out a giggle, then a small laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he slumps against the wall. He catches himself staring as Connie cackles, his eyes tracing the shape of her smile. He sets the bucket aside and gives a sigh.

Connie holds out a hand for him to take. "Let's go see if that chip actually works."

And Steven accepts the offer with a soft smile. He grasps her calloused hand and stumbles up on half-steady legs, Connie letting him go as he grounds himself. His fingers twitch and flex after she turns away. Steven stuffs his hand in his pocket before it can do anything embarrassing—like try and reach out to hold hers again, because he can't actually remember the last time he had any positive human contact. He falls in step behind her, staying just out of arms' reach.

The Parichit is just as cozy and warm as they left her. Steven keeps his guitar slung over his shoulder while they walk toward the cockpit, Connie idly tossing and catching the hefty chip as they go. He stops at the threshold, just like last time.

The Vault Hunter steps up to the console and flicks a few toggles. "It might take a little while for the nav-system to chart our course, since this is, uh..." Connie hesitates, turning the chip over. "... An _ancient_ piece of hardware."

He chuckles and leans against the doorframe. "I'm surprised Garnet didn't give us a paper map. She's even more analog than I am."

Connie chuffs out a short laugh and inserts the chip into a slot on the dashboard. A projection leaps up, showcasing stars, planets, and a dotted pathway through the space between. Connie stares at the image for a long second, before her face falls. "She might as well have just given us a piece of paper... this thing isn't compatible with the warp-drive's navigation. It's just a visual set of coordinates."

Steven blinks sharply. "You'll have to drive manually?"

She shakes her head. "Not entirely. It'll just take a lot longer, since I'll have to manually program the autopilot. I'll only have to steer if some anomaly crops up. The big issue is that we won't be able to go at top speeds," she explains, looking at him with a frown. "It'll probably take at least a week to get to Eros, since it's outside of this solar system."

He blinks again. Only seven days? He can't help but give a crooked smile as a giggle threatens to burst out. "Oh man, that's gonna take _ages_."

Connie's cheeks turn a dusty pink. "I haven't had to program her in forever! It's not my fault Parichit didn't come with _every_ planet in the galaxy installed in her navigation map—"

A wheezy snicker escapes him and he covers his mouth. He can't hide the mirth in his eyes, though—he just can't.

Her cheeks burn even brighter as she bristles. "Don't—don't _laugh!"_

"I'm sorry! Really!" he says, holding back a fit of the giggles as best he can. "It's just—" one little chuckle slips through. "—I usually end up traveling on slow moving freighter-class ships, when I'm planet hopping. I'm not used to super high speeds, or all this fancy tech."

Connie gives him a funny look for a very brief moment, gears grinding to a halt behind her eyes. She shakes her head with a smile, and turns back to the console. "Says the guy with a _fancy_ holo-shield."

Steven blinks again, clueless for a split second. He opens his mouth to explain, to voice his confusion, but the words die in his throat before he can even think of anything to really say. Of course she'd chalk it up to something technological. He can't blame her for that assumption. He himself can barely figure out how the thing works, sometimes. He glowers down at his arm where the shield typically manifests.

It's better— _easier_ —that she just thinks it's some intricate bit of tech he keeps under his sleeve.

The captain's chair creaks as Connie sits down. "Programing our course shouldn't take very long," she glances back at him, hands on the console. "You can go ahead and get settled in, though. I can show you around properly after I get done."

He nods, adjusting his guitar strap. Sheepishness crawls up his spine, and he offers her an unsure smile. "You sure you're alright with me just... crashing in your living room?"

She quirks an eyebrow and shoots him a very assured smirk. Steven gets the silent hint, holding up his hands in surrender as he backs out into the hallway. He watches Connie return to the expansive console, before he faces the living area. He fidgets, claustrophobic and too exposed, all at once. This is still _her_ space. The entire Parichit is Connie's space.

Steven tiptoes up to the long, L-shaped couch, wary as he unloops his guitar from his shoulders. He casts a glance toward the hologram-protected bookshelf, scanning the contents. Dozens of fantasy titles stare back at him, as do encyclopedias, history pads, and so many other tomes that his eyes wander and get lost over. A sigh escapes him as he sits down next to his instrument.

Tidy the living space may be, but every corner still bleeds and aches with very personal touches. He doesn't even dare to look toward the couple of books on the coffee table in front of him, and he just observes the sort-of-wilty split-leaf plant in the kitchen. Every fiber of his being urges him to check on the probably-okay houseplant, but politeness keeps him anchored.

A wriggling, nervous feeling settles in his gut as time ticks by, Steven very aware of the seconds and minutes. Something hums louder. The Parichit may be personal class, made for smooth take offs and stops, but he still feels the air shift, the floor move, and the walls tremble—just ever so slightly.

Connie emerges from the hallway, stretching as she steps onto the carpet. She pops her back and flops onto the farthest end of the couch, sprawling out across two cushions. "That took a lot longer than I thought it would."

He tilts his head. "How long did you think it'd take?"

"Like, two minutes!" she throws her hands up in exasperation. "Instead, I had to manually chart almost the _entire course_ , because Parichit's systems could only chart from here to Promethea. I practically had to do the whole thing by hand, while I studied the map that Garnet gave us. Sure, the thing's crazy detailed, but the process took like—twenty minutes!"

She groans and lets her head loll against the back of the seat. Steven has to wrestle down a smile at her rant. It'd take him twenty _hours_ to figure out how to program an autopilot sequence to a planet _within_ their current system.

Connie sighs with such a heaviness, fidgeting around in her seat. "Anyway, you like... want something to eat, before I show you around?" she asks, lifting her head and giving him wry grin. "I have enough packaged rations, fancy ramen, and freeze-dried goodies to feed a small army."

His mouth waters at the mere idea of such silly delicacies. Steven chuckles and nods. " _Anything_ sounds better than steam-cooked Pandoran beets for weeks on end."

She sticks her tongue out. " _Bluh_. That just sounds gross, after a while."

"It was painfully repetitive," he confirms, snickering. "It's been awhile since I operated a stove, but, I could help cook—i-if you'd like." 

Connie deflates with a sigh of relief, and she shoots him another grin. "That'd actually be great."

So he follows her into the kitchen space, and stays at arm's length. Steven sets up a pot for the pre-packaged noodles, but fumbles with the stove's controls for a moment. Everything on this ship is so touchy and techy. He finally sets it to 'boil,' and reaches over to turn on the faucet.

Connie leans out from rummaging around in a cabinet. "So, what kind of flavors and ingredients do you usually like? I've got chicken, beef, shrimp... more chicken, and two other beefs."

A bit of sheepishness curls up in his chest as she hands him a pack of noodles. "I don't use the meaty flavor packets anymore, since I've been a vegetarian for a few years. But I'm okay with fish," he glances off as he opens the packet. "I... kinda had to be, given my circumstances on Pandora."

"Ah, then you'd be a... circumstantial pescatarian."

He blinks, trying to process the words she just gave him. "A—A what?"

" _Pescatarian_ ," Connie repeats, sauntering over to the fridge-box. "Pretty much a vegetarian who eats seafood."

"Huh... I didn't know there was a name for that kind of diet," he gives her smirky little grin. "Neat."

**//**

**Day two.**

He has full access to the Parachit's living area, but Steven's nerves refuse to settle. He's a stranger—an intruder—on Connie's very personal space, even though she insists that he's very welcome here. He's welcome to use the kitchen as he sees fit, he's welcome to browse her collection of books, he's welcome to do so many things that require wandering around her space.

Maybe he's still coming down from that Pandorian skittishness. That risk and danger chance that he always had to take when he came across a settlement or a camp. Would the humans be friendly, or would they try to shoot at him on sight? Would they call him over, or shout psycho-babble about his supposed bicycle chain? Would he need his shield or his song?

But here... up here, in the safety of a ship, he doesn't _have_ to worry. There's no immediate threat. There's no looming sense of starvation or dehydration. He can rest easy. He can _sleep._

Steven stares up at the ceiling. He should sleep. He really should sleep. He closes his eyes and hopes that he'll start to drift, but his spine remains tense. Too many frightful wakeup calls echo in the forefront of his mind. Sometimes it was a deformed, tiny man attempting to rummage through his satchel, and other times it was the roar of a wild animal, but they boiled down to a very basic common theme.

If he tried to sleep, he could wake up dead.

Connie's footsteps tread across the carpet, and he opens his eyes. She doesn't even give him a first look, beelining for the kitchen area. He watches as she shuffles around the long counter, fumbling at some sleek device. She yawns, wide and unhindered, as she grabs for a mug. He flicks his gaze back up to the ceiling. It's weird to watch people, especially this early in the 'morning.'

Minutes inch by. Connie sips at her coffee—tea?—and fixes something to snack on for breakfast. She casts a glance at him as he sits up, before she adds an extra couple slices of bread to the toaster. "Oh, hey. You sleep alright?"

Steven smiles, easy and casual. "Yeah."

**//**

**Day three.**

He bumps elbows with her as she tries to brush her teeth and carry on with her bathroom-related wake up routine. Steven didn't really mean to be in here at the same time as her, but run-ins happen. He'll have to check the clock, to make sure they never share the too-small space again.

He works at a knot in his hair, slow and wincing with every tug of the brush. Connie rinses off her toothbrush and swipes up a cup of mouthwash. She slips past him and back out into the living area.

They do an awkward shuffle-dance at lunch, Steven trying to fix some tea while Connie busies around the kitchen space—collecting and trying to prepare ingredients for a Partali dish that he's never heard of until now. Neither of them address it when they finally sit down at opposite ends of the couch to eat the fried rice and freeze-dried-fruit meal.

Instead, they talk about something else. Anything else. She talks, he listens and chimes in when necessary.

Steven offers to do the dishes for her, when she says something about needing to check on the navigation system. She nods, says something along the lines of "Thank you so much, that'd be amazing," and then she's disappearing down the entrance hall.

The young man allows himself a quiet, but audible sigh before he stands and collects the dirty dishes.

Just a few more days, and he'll be out of her hair.

**//**

**Day four.**

Sweet, sweet unconsciousness never lasts very long for Steven Universe.

He startles awake as the ship creaks and lurches. Something paint-scarring rattles the plating and his bones. Connie curses, loud and profane, from in the cockpit. He grips the bolted down couch as the Parichit leans, uprights, and leans again.

Are they being attacked? No, space pirates wouldn't chip the paint. They'd just take out any weapons the Parichit might be packing, and then board the ship. Steven dares to stand up, recalling the many asteroid fields he'd floated through on heavy freighters. That has to be it. They must be going through a space rock field.

Nothing to worry about for a slow-moving tank of a ship.

Another jolt, a hit, something heavy and crunchy collides with the outer hull. Everything shakes and trembles. The lights flicker once, and then they're gone.

Connie's voice rings out through the suddenly very quiet ship. "God- _fucking_ _damnitall!!"_

The backup power kicks on. The lights do not.

Steven stands in the dark, his hand drifting toward his stomach. He squeezes the fabric of his shirt, before he makes his way toward the cockpit. He peers around the dim corner, Connie stomping from pannel to pannel and flipping switches. He remains in the doorway, watching as she fiddles with hologram screens that fizzle and glitch at her touch. A tight cluster of space-rocks float on the rear-view screen, forming a navigator's worst nightmare. Open space lays out on the window-shield.

Connie gives a long sigh after a few minutes of adjustments, and turns toward him with a remarkably calm expression. "An asteroid chunk hit us, while I was trying to steer though that field," she says. "It didn't cause any serious damage, but it threw the environmental controls for a loop, and busted up one of the wings," she looks toward the captain's chair, a weak frown crossing her lips. "I've never actually... damaged her, before. Scraped her a little, sure, but..."

Any meaningful condolences or assurances wither away before he can even think of them. Steven just gives her a gentle, sympathetic grimace. "It's okay. Nothing else got majorly damaged, right?"

Connie huffs out a sigh, vaguely hollow and bitter as she turns back to the controls. "Yeah. I'll just have to find a nearby shipyard, so we can get things repaired. No big. Parichit should still be able to scan for stations and yards."

Steven just nods, even though she's not paying attention to him anymore. He backs out of the cockpit's threshold, and leaves her to her work.

**//**

**Day five.**

The station they found is decent enough, and the repairs won't cost an arm and a leg. Only catch, they can't be in the ship while it's being worked on—which is fine. That just means a rented room with mediocre-to-no room service, some standard ECH0net channels on the cheap TV in the cabinet, grey carpet that seems eons old, a small bathroom that nobody wants to even touch, and one really firm bed.

Steven blinks sharply at that last thought, as Connie inserts the keycard to their room for the night. She slips inside after it unlocks. He tugs at the collar of his loose fitting shirt and steps into the room. Connie stares at the twin mattress with plain sheets and a gaudy quilt. A cluster of flat pillows lay at the headrest. The vault hunter gives him a wary glance, as she sets her overnight bag on the foot of the bed.

"This won't be too bad," she says, and yes it will.

"Yeah, it's—" he laughs, a little awkward and a little worried. "—It's better than the rooms I rented on Pandora," so the bar is astronomically low.

They build a wall of pillows between each other and lay back to back, come time to sleep.

Connie turns on the TV for some white noise. A show about a doctor's office fizzles and statics in, and they watch that for a while. Steven's eyes droop as a laugh track plays. Maybe this won't be so bad, after all.

He's not on Pandora, anymore. He has someone at his back, in case danger does come crawling around in the form of a ratch or some maniac with a buzz-axe.

Steven is safe, believe it or not.

He doesn't remember when exactly he falls asleep, but he's grateful for every second of unawareness. The lull of the low-volume TV wards off any dreams of tangling rose bushes, collapsing buildings, or power hungry sirens chasing him down and trying to leach the very life from him.

The alarm _not_ going off on Connie's Ech0-device is what causes Steven to wake.

Slow, still sleepy, he half opens his eyes to what he can assume is a morning program about soap. He starts to sit up, but noticing a weight on his chest and by his side makes him freeze. Steven glances down and into the puffy hair of his vault hunter captain. Connie doesn't move, still very asleep, and her arm is _very_ much laying on his chest. She has his arm hostage.

Worst of all, he's physically very comfortable. He could easily just fall back asleep. Part of him wants to.

The other part doesn't have a choice.

He wakes up again sometime much later, and Connie is out of bed and repacking her overnight bag.

"The repair team just called," she says, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. "They said Paichit's ready to fly."

**//**

**Day eight.**

"Steven, I really think you're gonna wanna see this."

He tears his gaze away from the book in his hands, the one she'd given him to read this morning, and meets Connie's eyes. She's smiling, excitement bubbling behind the almost-grin on her face. He sets it down without hesitation and stands up, curiosity piqued. He follows as Connie leads him to the cockpit, her steps bouncy.

Steven's eyes go wide.

The floor, ceiling, and walls all appear translucent, as if made of glass, showing off the stars and vast space ahead. A group of giant, blubbery and finned creatures drift along outside, like clouds. Connie prances a couple steps through the doorway. She turns to him, grinning ear to ear.

He releases a breathless gasp. " _Space whales..._ "

She nods and grabs his hand. He jolts and almost tries to flinch back, but he's five seconds too slow as she tugs him inside and to the captain's chair. She flicks a switch on the console, and a sound drifts in through the speakers. A low, whistling noise echoes through the room, followed by a chorus of bellowing calls. Haunting pulses of rumbles, squeaks, and chirps flow from the creatures outside.

"Isn't it amazing?" Connie asks.

Steven nods, tongue tied.

"I set the visual scanners to the console's holo-emitters, so we could see them better. Space whales' calls are actually a very complex language," Connie explains, eyes sparkling. "It differs hugely between species. Lots of scientists have tried to translate their 'songs,' but have only come up with minimal results. A few think space whales might actually be tied to some long-lost alien race, but, I dunno exactly how plausible that is. I mean, it's _possible,_ but they're most likely their own species. Their intelligence level has been recorded be on-par with Terra-Two's whales, and—"

It takes all his willpower—and then some—to not sing with them.

**//**

**Day ten.**

He peers through the doorway of the bathroom, and into the den. [Funky, upbeat music](https://youtu.be/7yA6A-IG6TY) drums from the front of ship. Steven steps out into the hall, as a pair of singing voices reach his ears. He traverses deeper through the Parichit's living area, quiet and on tip-toes. He can't understand what the lyrics are, but whoever's belting out verses seems to be having fun. He squints and stops for a moment.

The second singer... is that... Connie's voice?

Steven sneaks closer toward the entrance hallway, the music growing louder as he approaches the cockpit. When he reaches them, the doors open on their own with a fluid, silent hiss, and Steven stops in his tracks.

The Vault Hunter Connie Maheswaran sways in the center of the room, dressed in a set of patterned pajama pants and an old t-shirt. Miss-match socks help her slide effortlessly across the glossy floor, as music thrums from the speakers. She slips and skates about the small space and sings her heart out, eyes blissfully closed.

A lot of the lyrics sound utterly foreign, but the rhythm and melody already have him tapping his foot. English words hit his ears, and suddenly he's humming and singing along. "—Love is war, love is—"

Steven's voice drys up in that same instant.

Connie freezes, her eyes opening and landing on the intruder. Time stands still as Steven's fight or flight instincts punch him the gut and put a stupid look on his face. The music continues, the smooth singer's voice no help at all. He's fairly sure he can actually see the precise moment Connie's soul leaves her body and flees into the recesses of space, before it comes rocketing back to slam her into mortified awareness.

She takes a deep breath in, but her voice just comes out a hoarse squeak. " _Oh my god._ "

The music carries on.

His face heats up and he stumbles back a few paces. "I'm so sorry! I didn't— _oh gosh_ —I heard music when I was—and I—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean to barge in like this!"

Connie throws her hands out, wild eyed and cheeks burning as she scrambles to pause her tunes. "No, no, I thought it wasn't that loud! I had to steer through a trader port, and traffic was insane, so I put on some music to pass the time! I-I didn't think it'd wake you up, I'm sorry—"

He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. "A-Actually, the change in speed is what woke me up. Plus I'm... still kind of on a Pandoran sleep cycle."

" _So_ , a 'never sleep' cycle?" she asks with a sheepish half-grin.

Well, she's got him there. Steven gives a shy chuckle, nodding. "Sometimes, yeah."

**//**

**Day fourteen.**

A planet of dot-light cities and deep, vivid greens floats before them. Vast oceans stretch across one side of the sphere, trickles of blue flowing into the jungles and expanses of cities.

A name echoes in the back of Steven's mind, and he exhales slowly.

_Eros._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garnet once described her home planet as a paradise. 
> 
> He sure hopes that hasn't changed.


	5. the planet of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [dance of swords (remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQfMcF1AfIg)
> 
> Connie and Steven reach Eros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update, ey?
> 
> It's been quite the hot minute since I was really able to sit down with this fic, but it was so good to get back into it. I've actually went and made a [tumblr](https://planet-speaker-au.tumblr.com/) for this au, if anyone wants to check it out! I'm mainly gonna be using it to post any sketches & concepts there, if/when I draw 'em. I've got the ask box open, so feel free to pop in and say hi!

Connie's attention jerks toward blips of movement on the navigation screen.

Three vessels—ships, small fighters—dog the Parichit's tail while she enters Eros' orbit. They keep their distance at first, but as she uprights and cruises through gravity, the three settle in a triangle formation. Connie's hand dips down toward a lever under the console, but her fingers twitch in hesitation. There's probably no need to be on such high alert. She taps a few keys on the main console, bringing up the local ECH0net entry about the planet. She only catches a brief passage, before her gaze flicks back to the navigation screen.

> _Eros is a tropical jungle paradise, owned and operated by the Diamond Ammunitions Corporation._

Those blips edge closer and closer, their formation tightening. She goes for her ECH0-device and switches the bandwidth to broadcast. The hairs on the back of her neck spike up. She swallows, clammy and tense as she speaks.

"Unknown vessels, this is the Parichit. Please identify—"

A warning blares from a sensor—which one? _Which one?_ —before multiple somethings graze the top of the ship, and more warnings sound off. Her foot slams on the acceleration pedal as she banks left with jerky movement. The cockpit doors open with a hiss, but she doesn't dare to tear her eyes away from the viewscreen. One fighter edges closer, a warning blares, and she veers the ship to dodge the oncoming shots. Another fighter tries to pull up beside her.

Steven's voice aches with anxiety, as he stands within the threshold. "Connie, wh-what's—are we being attacked?!"

The rest of the fighters move to encircle her. Connie bites her lip. She opens her mouth to speak, but the Parichit shudders and jolts when a blast pierces the side of the hull. Warnings scream and lights brighten as a damage visual pops up, showing smoke billowing from the side of her ship.

Her grip on the controls tighten, and a tremor of molten frustration courses through Connie's chest and limbs. "Oh, _screw you_ , I just got her repaired!!"

"I guess that answers my question—"

Connie's free hand snatches down to the lever under the console. She gives it a sharp tug, teeth grit. Panels on the Parichit's outer hull shift away, and a large rifle-cannon raises into view. A new holo-screen flickers within her reach, and she sets her hand on the gun's controls. A glimmer of trepidation rolls beneath the waves of anger.

She's never had to use this thing before. "You ready for some fancy flying?"

" _No!_ "

"Hang on to something."

With a flick of the shift-stick control, the Parichit makes a sharp turn, banking around and behind the fighter ships. Connie's eyes narrow, her cannon's programing helping it auto-lock on the nearest thing flagged as an "enemy." Nervous doubt clutches at her guts, but she fires anyway. 

A stream of rapid blasts rain down on her target, taking the ship by surprise.

The two other ships scatter, fleeing the dangerous section of air as the wounded ship bleeds heavy black smoke. Connie averts her eyes from the sight of it losing altitude, banishing the mental image of it crashing into the ground with a giant explosion.

She doesn't flinch at the rush of exhilaration stirring, bubbling, _surging_ in her chest.

Both ships turn on her, weapons readying as Connie maneuvers the shift-stick and turns the Parichit to tilt ever-so-slightly. The ships barrel toward her, and a grin creeps across her face as her heartbeat hammers in her ears.

She embraces whatever emotion this electric-ness is, and mashes the trigger again. More blasts from the enemy clip and tear into the Parichit's hull, but she gets some shots in as well. Warnings blair and shine brighter. Steven slips and skids from one end of the room to the other, the sound of his sandals squeaking across the slippery floor reminding Connie that yes—she has a passenger.

He bumps into the back of her chair as she pivots to dodge a hail of blasts. She manages to hit a second ship in the wing, sending it spiraling. She looks toward the final fighter ship, the spindly little thing on her tail. 

An idea crawls through her mind, and it's a really stupid one, but it makes that electric feeling double.

Connie dips the Parichit into a sharp dive.

Steven clings even tighter to the captain's chair, his voice tight with nervousness. "Connie, w-what are you doing...?"

The surface of Eros rushes toward them as the fighter remains on their tail. Her palms sweat and she holds her breath while pulses of what feel like lightning rocket through her nerves. A new warning flashes on screen. She ignores it. It yells at her a few seconds later, and she continues to ignore it.

She can make out some details of the canopy below them, vivid and deep green leafs rustling. There's some bright splashes of color that are probably flowers—or maybe birds. Connie straightens out the Parichit with a quick, fluid _lurch_.

A golden-pink sky greets them as she flies just above the treetops. Fluffy, wispy, and pale clouds swirl around looming blue mountains and colossal trees in the far distance. She blinks, her nerves still alive and tense, but a sense of serenity coils around her head.

An explosion behind them makes her and Steven jolt. Connie checks the rearview screen, seeing fire and smoke crawling up from a receding section of the canopy. She shares a side-glance with the young man beside her, eyes wide. He blinks back at her, just as shell shocked.

Her heart keeps pounding, even as she finds a spot to safely land and hide the Parichit under the towering trees. She sets down next to a rocky outcrop, in between some large boulders. She checks damage reports with even breathing. The adrenaline has subsided, but the memory of it fizzing under her skin still remains at the forefront of her mind.

It kicks in again when her ECH0-device starts ringing.

A photo of her father pops up on the small screen. Connie’s heart bounces up from the bottom of her stomach, right into her throat. She looks over her shoulder at Steven.

He’d break her cover in an instant.

She motions for him to back off, before putting a finger to her lips. He steps out of frame without hesitation.

She answers her ECH0, and the photo of dear old dad blips away. In its place pops a live video feed, her dark-haired father sitting at his work desk and dressed in his usual shirt-and-tie outfit.

He smiles, and Connie can see his ECH0-screen's reflection in his round glasses. "Hey sweetheart! How’s the weather out there?"

She smiles, easy and lax. "Hi dad. They’re keeping things pretty summer-y on campus."

"Lucky you,” he says. “It’s very winter-y over here. How are things? Your mom's working late, and I've got the house to myself, so I figured I'd give you a call—see how you're doing."

"Oh, yeah, everything's good! Classes are keeping me busy, but what's new."

His smile is so genuine and proud. "Ain't that the truth. I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?"

"Dad, come on, I’m not—"

He grins, playful tone full of understanding. "Connie, _come on_. I know nursing school ain't a walk in the park. If you have somewhere to be, we can chat later."

"I…” Connie sighs, glancing away. “I do have lecture hall in a few minutes... I'll call you again soon, though—I promise."

"Sounds like a plan. Love you, Connie!"

She smiles again, able to muster up a bit of authenticity. "Love you more, Dad."

He hangs up first, and the feed cuts off with a sharp, digital click.

She doesn't look up from her ECH0 right away. She can feel Steven's eyes on her, his silence making her itch. She dares to look at him after a long moment, and his confused expression just further spurs the urge to fidget.

He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible handful of seconds. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a hoarse, uncertain grunt. She can practically see the six or seven questions dancing around his head, as the young man tries to find his voice. ‘What just happened?’ ‘Nursing school?’ ‘Who actually are you?’ _'Why nursing school?’_ ‘Which is the lie? Vault hunting or… _nursing school?’_

Connie lets out a shaky breath. "They'd never let me leave the house, let alone the planet, if I told them the truth…” her chest is so very tight. “They—they don’t even know I have a _sword_.”

Steven blinks, his unspoken questions evaporating. The gears behind his eyes turn and stutter, until her lie clicks into place. Sympathy replaces confusion, and he just gives her a silent nod.

With the Parichit damaged—again—and the possibility of more fighter ships lurking around, there’s only one viable option if they want to find ‘the renegade.’ They’ll have to walk.

So that’s exactly what they do. Steven packs up a few essentials, and Connie programs her ECH0’s navigation to chart the surrounding area as they go. A map generates within minutes, and gives her a little beacon toward what could be civilization.

Leaving the Parichit in unknown territory makes Connie’s skin prickle, but it’s probably a much safer route, all things considered.

Besides—Steven can just sing at anything that tries to attack them. That worked last time, so… it should work again.

Her ECH0 points them North-West-ish, through mostly open grassland, and sort of toward those towering mountains with spirals of clouds. Their journey through the plains remains a quiet one, both in activity and conversation.

But worry buzzes in Connie's gut. With every step, her thoughts swirl like those wispy clouds above. She didn't exactly lie to Steven, but she didn't tell him about her parents, either... does he think she's hiding anything else? _Is_ she hiding anything else? Does he trust her anymore?

She grimaces to herself, as they climb up a steep slope. _'Did he trust me in the first place?'_

The vault hunter stops dead, once they reach the top. Her eyes go wide, and she lifts a hand to cover her mouth. “Oh my god.”

At the bottom of the ridge, lies a crater of what was presumably a small settlement. There's glints of smattered glass and burned metal, crumbling walls, and still-burning vehicles.

Connie jolts at the sound of stuttering breath. She bristles and looks toward Steven, hand already going for her sword. He’s standing rigid, gazing far beyond the smashed and charred remains of buildings. It’s as if he’s staring down a predator, as sweat slips down his forehead and neck.

Fight or flight shines in his eyes. She glances out toward the wreckage, but doesn't see any kind of danger.

But then he shakes his head, and he’s back in the moment. He gulps in a few large breaths, vision flitting around and a hand reaching to grip his shirt. He mumbles something that sounds a lot like _‘grass, rubble, Connie, sword—’_ before he steadies himself.

Struck dumb for a second, Connie stumbles over her words. “You okay? You, uh... went somewhere, for a second.”

“I… I-I was…” Steven swallows, shifting his weight. “I was on Prometha, during the Maliwan siege, a-a few years back.”

Memories of an ECH0-news cast slams into the forefront of her mind. Two corporations at war, presumably over some petty stock exchange. Atlas' headquarters were nearly destroyed, but they came out on top thanks to 'outside help.'

Her mother never let her see any of the footage.

She flinches, almost reaching a hand out to set on Steven’s shoulder, but something tells her to reconsider. He just had a flashback, judging by his physical reactions—and flashbacks are an absolutely-do-not-touch type of thing, according to her mother and the sources that Connie had checked.

Steven gives her a strained look. “I helped with Atlas' relief efforts, but…”

Or does the absolutely-do-not-touch rule only apply when someone is actively in a flash back? That sounds more correct.

He shivers, hands clutching at his shirt. “It was bad. Really bad.” 

She dares to reach out and put her hand on his shoulder. Steven’s eyes close almost within an instant, and he leans into her touch—if only by a bit.

He continues, voice quiet. “There wasn’t just soldiers. There—there were bandits, too. It was chaos,” he tightens his grip on his shirt. “So many parts of the city looked exactly… no, _worse_ than this.”

Connie does a small double-take at the rubble, taking stock of the damage. Leveled buildings, burnt ground, smoke still crawling up from barely intact structures… she clenches her fist at the thought of all this damage on a city-wide scale.

She gently bites the inside of her cheek. “We don’t have to keep going if you—”

Steven shakes his head, eyes opening. “No, no, I’m… I’m okay,” he reconsiders his words for a second. “I’ll be okay.”

She gives him an unsure frown, but doesn’t object. “We’ll just go around. That sound good?”

He manages a sort-of smile and motions for her to lead the way. He trails behind Connie as she makes her way along the edge of the ridge, and helps her clamber down the side after they get far from the edge of the charred earth.

She still keeps a subtle eye on Steven, even long after the smell of burnt everything fades into the distance.

The grasslands give way to cracked dirt and even sparser vegetation. Connie keeps her attention on the sky, until they come across a high-rise of earth that appears very man-made. Like a mining quarry, of some sort.

They’re about to head away from the drop-off, when rapid gunfire sounds off from somewhere within the quarry. Her ECH0 pings with heat signal notifications, hardly a moment later.

She shares a glance with Steven, before they both take off toward the cliff.

Stopping at the edge and slipping behind some rocks, Connie peers down into the dig site. It can’t be more than forty or fifty yards deep, with high-tech mining equipment stationed around in various spots, and plenty of supply crates scattered around.

At the bottom, there are a mass of figures on one side, all in yellow-tone armor, raining bullets down on another group. After a quick peek through her ECH0’s zoomed in camera, she spies that the other fighters seem to be dressed in civilian clothes and cobbled-together armor.

Connie’s heart skips a beat. She pockets her ECH0-device and moves to find a way down, but Steven grabs her jacket sleeve before she can get very far.

The young man keeps his panic-laced voice at a loud whisper. “W-Wait! You’re just—you’re just gonna charge in there and start swinging? We don’t even know who started this fight.”

Connie gives him a stern look. “Corporations are always the scumbag instigators. Yellows definitely look like they’re corporation goons.”

He hunkers down a little, releasing her sleeve. “A-Atlas wasn’t, when I—”

Connie shakes her head. “They were in the past, just like any other manufacturer. That, and these samey-soldiers remind me a little too much of Hyperion troopers.”

Just thinking about that entire chapter of Hyperion’s history leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and a fire in her belly. Secretly tuning into the Crimson Raider Radio at odd hours of the night, so she could hear about what was actually going on, had been the best decision she ever made as a pre-teen.

Steven lets out a frustrated hiss, trying not to grind his teeth. “But, couldn’t we just ask them what’s going on, a-and avoid any… unnecessary bloodshed?”

“I don’t think either side is going to listen, especially not to a couple of strangers,” Connie replies, stealing a glance at the battle. “And the counter-fighters will most likely just shoot the yellows, if you sing at them.”

He grumbles and lets out a resigned huff. “My songs only work on stuff that wants to hurt _me,_ anyway… but, what if the other side are bandits?”

Connie resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Do they _look_ like bandits to you?”

Steven hesitates, glancing down at the battle for a few seconds. “I… no, not… not really. They’re too organized, a-and I don’t see any weird masks or… anything bandit-ish. But, there’s—there’s still a lot going on, and you might get caught in the crossfire i-if you—”

She draws her sword with one quiet motion. “This isn’t my first firefight.”

“Connie, no, wait—c-can’t we just—”

Connie charges forward without a second thought, blade poised to deflect any oncoming shots. She slides down the slanted cliff face, landing just behind one of the larger mining machines. She ducks and slides in between cover, flitting closer and closer to the yellow-clad soldiers, until she’s an arm’s length away from a pair with assault-rifles.

She makes a beeline for the nearest set of yellow-tone armor.

Her reflection in the soldier's helmet snarls back at her, as she descends on her startled target, magenta blade gleaming.

His standard holo-shield does nothing to stop her metal. Very human blood spatters her sword as she cleaves into the soldier, neck to hip.

Connie’s shoulders twitch, and her stomach turns a little when the man slumps over and remains motionless. She sets her sights on another set of yellow armor.

A gun clicks somewhere behind her, and Connie skirts behind a crate just as bullets fly. She gets a quick look at the logo sprayed on her hiding spot—a stylized bullet that looks like it’s made of diamond—before she takes a peek at the battlefield.

Her eyes go wide at the sight of Steven in the middle of the fight. He stands with his bright pink holo-shield held aloft, protecting a wounded fighter—some stout woman with purple-ish hair. He remains firm, but with a terrified expression, as a soldier with a hefty shotgun aims at him.

He’s absolutely going to get himself hurt.

Or worse.

And that thought makes Connie’s nerves go haywire. Her vision narrows to just the shotgun wielder, as she vaults over her hiding-crate. The trooper takes a shot just as Connie closes the distance, her sword biting into armor and flesh.

He staggers, wounded but not beaten. She advances again. The soldier tries to raise his weapon again, but a muffled shot goes off just before a spurt of blood erupts from the side of his head, and he crumples into a heap.

Connie stops short, blade half raised and still ready to strike, as she searches for where the shot came from. Up on the ridge? Not that she can see. In one of the mining vehicles? She can’t tell from this distance. She shakes her head as another yellow soldier steps out into the open, aiming at her.

She falls back to cover, barely dodging rifle fire. Nearby, sits one of the civilian-clad fighters. An absolute mountain of a woman, with dark skin and a mess of rainbow dreadlocks. Connie blinks and tries very hard not to stare, but the candy-pastel colors are just so eye catching...

The woman casts a glance at her, and grins. “Dunno who you and the boy are, but you’ve certainly got some skills with a sword! Thanks for jumpin’ in like this!”

Connie can’t help but look down, bashful at the praise. “Oh, uh—it’s—it’s nothing, really?” now isn’t really the time to be all humble. “We saw you guys needed some help, so—”

“And I’m certainly grateful for the assist,” the woman finishes reloading the giant shotgun that Connie hadn’t even noticed at first. “We’ve been pinned down by these DACs for a while now!”

The woman stands up, aims, and fires off several rocket-like projectiles at a yellow soldier. He doesn’t even have time to react, before he’s nothing but a pile of red _paste_. 

The decidedly very badass woman hunkers back down, before looking over to a very wide eyed Connie. “I’m Bismuth, by the way!”

“C-Connie. I’m a vault hunter!”

Bismuth perks up at those four words, eyes glimmering. “No kiddin’?”

Connie nods, flinching as bullets pelt her hiding spot. “Yeah, I uh—yeah!” she fumbles for a second, trying to gather her thoughts. “The guy out there with the big pink shield, he’s Steven.”

Bismuth nods, reloading her weapon once again. “Good to know—and good to have some nice cover.”

Stealing a look at the battlefield, Connie catches a flit of movement on the edge of the combat. Something blue, and vaguely see through—

A figure in blue armor, identical in make to the yellow soldiers, appears right next to one of the civilian-fighters. Connie’s breath hitches as she spots a handgun in the figure’s grip.

Connie’s legs move on autopilot. She leaps over her cover, racing across the open stretch of dirt and stone. She slices through a set of yellow armor in her way, then another. 

The blue-armored figure aims at their unaware target’s head.

Steven’s voice calls out from somewhere to her left. “ _Behind you!_ ”

The civilian-fighter whirls, unsure who the warning is for, and Connie can see her own reflection in the soldier’s blacked out helmet. The blue-clad soldier tilts their head her way, just for a second, before a muffled shot rings out.

Blood fountains out the side of the blue soldier’s neck, just as Connie reaches striking distance.

A new voice calls out from somewhere above. “We had a blue! Keep a sharp eye, folks, there might be more!”

The blue armored soldier claws at their bleeding neck, before their would-be victim fires off a few rounds into them. Connie holds her breath and directs herself toward the remaining yellows—only to see about three or four left on the battlefield. Bismuth pops out of hiding again, before she rains down another barrage of mini-rockets on the enemy.

More red paste splatters across the ground. The last two yellow soldiers start to fall back, now outnumbered and outgunned. A few of the civilian-fighters fire after them, but make no serious effort to get kill shots.

The quarry goes still, for a long second, as the echo of the enemy’s footsteps fade away.

Connie’s nerves feel like they’re full of electricity. Are her hands shaking? Maybe a little, but she can’t completely tell with the adrenaline still surging in her chest.

A whoop and holler from Bismuth breaks the quiet, her troops following suit with victorious cries. A smile that turns into an uncontrollable grin spreads across Connie’s face, and she finds herself joining in on the cheering.

Her voice dies in her throat as she spots a somber looking Steven, his shield now deactivated as he helps that wounded fighter to her feet. He gives the purple haired woman a smile, but Connie isn’t sure of how genuine it is.

A sharp whistle catches her and everyone else’s attention, Bismuth now standing atop a crate. “Alright, alright! We still gotta get back, but ya’ll can thank this sword wieldin’ vault hunter for the big assist!”

And then all eyes are on Connie, and her nerves are on fire yet again. ‘ _Ooh’s_ and _‘Whoa, a vault hunter!’_ s spill from the civilian-fighters. Connie’s face heats up, and she ducks her head at all the awestruck faces.

She chuckles, twisting the ball of her foot into the ground. “I-I didn’t actually do _that_ much—”

Bismuth gives a hearty laugh, hands on her hips. “Aw come on, don’t be bashful V-H!” she jumps down from her perch with a _thump,_ before approaching Connie. “Not many ‘round here can kill DACs with just a blade.”

Puzzlement floods Connie’s brain at the acronym. “DACs?”

Bismuth sticks her tongue out in a grimace. “ _Diamond Ammunitions Corporation_ goons. We call ‘em DACs, for short. ‘S easier than that mouthful of a title they have.”

Connie makes a sound of acknowledgement, just as Steven walks up. He gives her a quick smile upon seeing that she isn’t hurt, before he turns to Bismuth.

Steven clears his throat, offering a shy wave. “Uh, hi… not sure if Connie introduced me, but, I’m Steven. We’re looking for someone called _the Renegade._ ”

The woman crosses her arms with a grin. “Heh, you must mean Pearl. Only the DACs call her that.”

The name doesn’t seem to ring any bells for Steven, as Bismuth motions for them to follow. Connie falls in step just a bit behind her, Steven keeping pace by her side.

“How long have you guys been fighting this corporation?” Connie asks.

“Ever since they first came here,” Bismuth says, contempt lining her voice. “Things only got really heated a few years ago, when they took the capital.”

Her five other troops meander a few steps behind and around them, Connie finally getting a more distinct look at them. They’re all just… regular people. Like people she’d see the supermarket, or in a movie theater—albeit armed to the teeth, but, still pretty average people.

She idly watches as some of them roughhouse with each other, the stout woman from before talking with and leaning on a tall and skinny person. Connie notices a sleek and old-timey sniper rifle on the skinny person’s back, before Bismuth speaks again.

“Pearl was the one who first organized the freedom fighters. A lot more people would’a died during the initial siege, if she wasn’t in charge.”

Steven’s expression pinches a bit, and his hand reaches for his shirt. “She sounds like a good leader.”

Bismuth nods. “She was one of our only beacons, when the DAC first came around.”

 _One of?_ Connie opens her mouth to inquire about who else there was, but the words fail her. The other person could be a sore subject for Bismuth, or maybe even a traitor to the freedom fighters… perhaps she’ll ask about that later.

The trek out of the quarry doesn’t take long, everyone still keeping an eye out for danger. It’s smooth sailing—or, walking, rather—through a section of plains, and then toward the scattered treeline of the jungle.

Steven remains quiet throughout the journey, and it makes Connie’s skin start to itch again. He’s probably upset about her charging into combat and just… straight up eviscerating more than a couple of people.

But what else was she supposed to do? _Talk_ to the very aggressive corporation goons, who just want to shoot and kill things? Yes, because that would work out swimmingly.

An aching tension remains in her gut, as they make their way through thickening underbrush. They pass through the treeline and into dense shade, greeted by lush greens and browns. Bismuth leads them to what looks like a well-trodden animal trail, semi-hidden by large palm fronds.

Connie checks her ECH0, but the signal starts to glitch and fizzle as they continue down the trail. She squints and pokes at the screen, but the glitching just gets worse. “Do you guys have signal jammers or something?”

“Yup,” Bismuth replies, moving aside a branch. “We place scramblers all over sections of the jungle, to keep the DACs guessing. That newer do-dad of yours is gonna get pretty fussy, the closer we get to camp.”

“Older models aren’t affected by your scramblers?” Connie asks.

“Only a select few truly ancient models—like the DAHL ECH0-one, or Torgue’s discontinued model.”

Connie blinks, tilting her head. “I heard a little bit about the recall on those… didn’t ninety-three percent of the Torgue-made ECH0s end up exploding within the first few minutes of being booted up?”

Bismuth gives a fond smile and pats the shotgun slung over her back. “Just like anything Torgue makes.”

True to her word, Connie’s ECH0 just gets fizzier and more static-filled as they go deeper into the jungle. When they reach a section of the undergrowth that seems wallish, her device’s screen is completely snowed over.

Bismuth pushes through the cover, Connie, Steven, and her troops following close behind. Once through, Connie is greeted with the sight of tents, patchwork buildings, more tents, and lots of people going about. Most of them tote some kind of firearm on their back or hip, ranging from handguns and pistols to submachine guns and rifles.

“Welcome to our little slice of paradise,” Bismuth says, gesturing toward the tents and people, before looking toward her squad. “Ame, Skinny, Jay—go ahead and get yourselves patched up.”

The squad leader receives a thumbs up from the mentioned people as they head off, the purple-haired woman still leaning on—who Connie presumes is—Skinny.

“I can show you guys around after I get you introduced to Pearl,” Bismuth continues, turning to Connie and Steven. “She’s gonna be real eager to meet you, V-H.”

Connie nods and trails behind the woman, Steven still by her side. She gives him a quick glance, which he catches. He offers her yet another smile, though this one seems less forced.

They pass through several sections of the apparently very expansive camp, going by dozens of different tents and buildings. A lot of them seem to be for housing or storage.

At last, they reach a cleared out spot of dirt, a sizable crowd gathered nearby. The whole lot of them are cheering and shouting at two people in the center of the arena-like space.

A pale and slender woman with peach-blonde hair spars with a man of considerable height, his honey-tone skin heavily scarred. The two have swords, but the woman brandishes a much spindlier and elegant blade—a rapier—while the man wields a broadsword.

The woman dodges and fients, jabs and slashes with grace, her movements poised and controlled. Her opponent swings at her, but his blade just cuts through air.

Connie watches, open mouthed, as the woman dances around like a bird in flight. She follows the woman’s sword movements and stances, analyzing each step.

_Parry, feint, parry, thrust!_

Her fingers twitch, and the urge to request a spar with such a fearsome warrior makes her a little breathless.

And then the spar is over, the woman flicking her opponents' sword right out of his hands and putting her blade near his chest. He balks in surprise, but laughs a moment later. The crowd cheers louder, some people exchanging wads of cash.

“That was good,” the woman says, her gaze flicking over to Bismuth. “But not quite enough to keep you alive. We’ll continue later.”

Oh gosh. Connie has to resist the very strong urge to check herself over, and make sure she looks at least half-way presentable. Is her sword totally clean, even though the blade isn’t visible? Is her shirt inside out, even though she’s at least eighty percent sure she put it on correctly this morning? Oh god, is there something in her hair? Or worse, her _teeth?_

The slender woman approaches them, her rapier in hand. She’s delicate and wartorn and drenched in sweat, and Connie’s nerves are alive with electricity again.

With a flick, the woman rests her weapon on her shoulder, her gaze settling on Steven. Recognition sparks behind her steely, pale blue eyes. “So… _you’re_ Rose’s boy.”

Connie’s jaw loosens just a bit more as she stares at the fair and dangerous woman before them.

The renegade cracks a smile. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the wolves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZnv-QBPtLA)


End file.
